


Forever Faithful to Your Highness

by Alley_Skywalker



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/F, Loyalty, Unresolved Sexual Tension, a bit of politics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-17
Updated: 2015-10-17
Packaged: 2018-04-26 21:09:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5020627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alley_Skywalker/pseuds/Alley_Skywalker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A private moment between a princess and her lady-in-waiting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forever Faithful to Your Highness

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Elleth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elleth/gifts).



> This is a stand-alone tie-in to [The Prince's Most Loyal](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4665903/chapters/10647120).

‘You called for me, Your Highness,” Dasha paused in the bedchamber doorway, the silk shawl draped over her arms conveniently covering her hands as she fidgeted slightly. 

Princess Camille sat at her dressing table, hands clasped before her, staring into the mirror with a look that Dasha had long since come to recognize as her pensive expression, the one she wore when planning her next steps in a complicated play or trying to figure out what to do in an unsavory situation. “Yes, I hope you’re not too tired. I had to dismiss the maids, they were getting on my nerves.”

“Would you like me to do your hair?” Dasha closed the door and set aside the shawl. She had had just enough time to change out of her ballgown, so she was wearing merely a light housedress. It was fortunate, since she sensed that Camille would want her presence for some time.

“Please.”

Dasha went to sit behind the Princess and began to carefully undo the clips in Camille’s hair. The thick brown tresses slowly unwound and unfurled. Released from their prisons, they escaped in a cascade down Camille’s neck and shoulders, over her shoulder blades and upper-back. Dasha ran her hands carefully through the curls, loosening them. She closed her eyes briefly, taking in the smell of Camille’s perfume. She liked to think of herself as a woman well in control of her feelings, but sometimes, she could not quite forbid herself an innocent indulgence such as this. “Are you expecting General Ptitsin tonight?” she asked softly, clip after silver clip falling away into her hands as she worked. 

“No, I told him to not bother. I couldn’t focus tonight anyway. Besides, lately he’s been a terrible bother with his constant insistence that I marry. Him of course. Oh the rogue thinks I don’t know that he wants the power just as much as he wants me.” Camille huffed and picked up the small porcelain container of oils which she used to remove her rouges and powders. “Men have the worst timing. With Friedrich this little feature helped my cause, at least.” 

Dasha did not say anything for a while. She watched over Camille’s shoulder as the Princess removed her make up. The bright colors fell away but what remained was just as attractive and fascinating. Dasha had noticed how much Camille seemed to have aged during her short reign of the last few years. She had gone from a fresh-faced young lady to a mature woman, whose features carried some of the scars of her everyday concerns. But she was still as beautiful as she had always been. 

“Is Monsieur Beckendorf well?” Camille asked suddenly. 

Dasha stiffened for a moment, then forced herself to relax. She knew that this was coming, that Camille would ask her about her conversation with the Grafschtum diplomat at the ball. Perhaps this was why she had felt so nervous in coming here tonight. Apparently, Camille's earlier mention of Friedrich had not been so offhand. “He seems like it. I was surprised he decided to show up here after…everything.” Dasha plunged her hands into Camille’s hair, massaging her scalp, releasing some of the tension there. 

Camille leaned back slightly, giving herself up to Dasha’s hands. “Oh course he’s here, the fool. He couldn’t stay away from a good plot against me. Not after what I did to Friedrich. I’d have him arrested if it wasn’t for his diplomatic protection.”

“Do you really think there is a plot, Your Highness?” Dasha bit her lip. She had felt it too, although she had refused to believe that it was real, but she had seen the signs. Her father constantly disappearing somewhere in the middle of the night, the secret letters, the constantly fragile, tense look on his face. Something was happening and Dasha could only hope that her father had not chosen the wrong side. She had already lost her sister to a misalliance, she did not wish to go through a similar ordeal once again. 

Camille sighed. “Of course there is. There is always a plot, my dear Dasha. The thing is, however, that most of them don’t get very far. But if Beckendorf bothered to show up it means something large is actually afoot these days. I can only hope that whatever footing they gained will be lost now that the drought seems to be easing.” She stood and stepped away from the dressing table. “My generals want war, it’s what I promised them when I took power, after all. But I do not think we are ready for war yet. I do not even know if we ever will be, to be quite frank with you.”

Dasha began to work on the lacing of Camille’s dress. The lace ties and corset bindings came away as easily under her long, nimble fingers as did the hairclips. “Men are often impatient,” she murmured as the silk ties of the bodice fell away, exposing the corset underneath. 

“Tell me what Beckendorf said while you were dancing. Are the rumors true?”

Dasha swallowed, forcing herself to speak in an even voice. “I’m afraid so, Your Highness. Friedrich’s son is alive and well, five years old by now.” 

“That whore.”

Dasha flinched. “My sister had always lacked sense, Your Highness.” The last of the bindings came undone and the heavy gown slipped off Camille’s statuesque frame, the dark purple velvets almost blue in the candlelight. 

Camille turned. She was now wearing only her underskirts and it took Dasha significant effort to not look down and admire her Princess’ ample breasts. Camille reached out and traced a hand over Dasha’s face, cupping her chin and left cheek for a brief moment. She traced two fingers over Dasha’s lips and smiled softly, the expression edged with a dangerous sharpness. “I should not have said that. Sometimes I forget that my late husband’s mistress is your sister. You are so much like me and so little like her.” 

“Thank you, Your Highness,” Dasha breathed. She could feel her heart pounding less with fear as with desire. Sometimes, she felt so strongly in these intimate moments that she thought her self-control would escape her at any moment and she would be utterly lost. It was this that had kept her through the entire ordeal of the coup d’etat, this fascination and lingering desire. Camille had stunned her from the day Dasha and her sister came to court. Lise, however, had been of a different mind. Dasha knew what people thought – that she disliked her sister, that she had helped Camille depose Friedrich out of jealousy and a lack of sisterly affection. It was not true. She and Lise had always been different but they were sister. And Dasha loved her sister – she simply loved her Princess more. 

Camille threw her head back and laughed, a ringing sound that filled the room. “Come, dear girl. Draw me a bath. I will never be able to relax without it. I must talk of the politics to someone, just to think it through, and why not you. After all, I have no reason to doubt you, do I?”

“No, Your Highness. I…I am forever yours.” Dasha flushed, realizing how her words sounded. “Forever faithful to Your Highness.”

Camille leaned forward and brushed her lips gently over Dasha’s, a feather-light touch which made the younger girl flutter senselessly. “Then let us talk as I bathe. I must say, I find no prospect more relaxing than warm water and your hands upon me.”


End file.
